Nice--The word is so often slightedAs if nothing could really be nice.But it is nice when the treesPlanted in the middle of the roadRise up into the blue sky. It is very nice.As we go motoring down the roadThe deep blue of the skyAnticipates the approach of the sea,And this is also very nice.

It is nice when the childPlays with the colored ball in the sunshine,And it is nice when the motherPushes the infant in the stroller--The infant is very pretty,And this is also very nice.Oh yes, from here to infinity,Stretching out through all the extent of the clear, permitting sky--Nice, nice, very nice,Like a child's gameOf me discovering myself,Which is, in fact, nicest of all.

We have made a pact This journey will not end We will never turn back though paradise beckon a thousand times though the ghost of suicide whines though the elders threaten and malign We will press onward Regardless

We sleep in the open we feast on the sky If the stars could eat our brains our skulls would be hollow as the night but we have the power of fire in our hearts to give us light

The trees murmur in the dark the wind stirs their leaves and they say things to each other to the clouds the mountains the meadows the creeks and we listen intently as if we could understand but we do not

The moon stays on course unfurling its sail a little more every night Traveling farther across the sky waxing to its own sort of silvery day Lighting the path we must follow Charmed, all our lives

This is no simple game but the rules are unwritten, so you learn by losing, and win by learning.

It would be nice of course if someone knew the way but if they do they never say.

Come along then, to the place where eternity can catch us up and bear us along on its dark waves.

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No Karma Karma, by Charles Carreon11/19/14

Most often, your idea of who you're dealing withIs just a notion redolent with anxiety,So lighten up on the personalities,Especially your own.And do what needs doing.

There's no place different from this,So stop leaning into the hamster wheel,And work in the timeless presenceWhere beings appearIn the splendor of unfettered creativity.

Breathing forth a stream of benefitFrom the heart that pervades all space,Radiate liberating awarenessTo every living being,And be washed pure in the rain of joy.

A small fireCan touch off a blazeThat burns a million trees.It can smolderIn the dried needlesInviting the latent flamein every thingTo join with itIn releasing the hidden power.Once fire catchesUp with matterThere's no stopping it.Chernobyl and Nagasaki and WattsTaught that.Fire one,Fire two,Fire three. Phosphorus Victim,Molotov Martyr,Subatomic Sacrificial Guernica BeastTerrified Howls "I DO!"Forced to wed, shotgun in the face,Flesh with flame, which,Once it catches,There's no stopping it.

No doubt I was born a fool. When young, I thought I'd die a wise man. Now I know a fool once born is never unmade. The way I was born is the way I've stayed. Strewing rose petals all the way, Greeting every grimy day With the toothy smile of idealism, As if someone else was going to pay And all I had to do was play. Is it any wonder I've been hated? Kindled others' rage to overflowing? Set tempers to raging and tongues to clucking; You would've thought they'd caught me fucking The Pope, or a horse, or somebody bad As if they never had conceived a naughty thought Or felt themselves get hot. There's something 'bout a traipsing step, a cavalier air, a flip of the wrist that puts their panties in a twist. I say I'm just a realist, Whereupon they drop their work And come straight for me, And it's not 'cause they adore me, They abhor me, And with imprecations vile Despoil my name. If I wasn't a fool I'd have gone insane, And they're all thinking "What goes on in that brain?" And I just say "I could tell you, but then you'd have to kill me."

Everything, it seems,bears the mark of where it's been.Old lumber still bears the circularscribing it acquired in the mill,And nail-holes remain as memoryof previous use.Rocks are a record to those who canread them, and even I can see they'resaying something about events longpast, of no concern to anyone,like old men reminiscing.But the water in this creek heredoesn't tell much about the past.It's muddy, but that's just today's rain.Its rippled face is the product ofthe very moment, and like a pliantlover, it smiles at whatever comes up.

Each day uniquely troubled,Each night a special woe,Each step the earth does tremble,In every grasp a seed is sown.This fertile field, abundantly produces fruitaccording to the nature of the seed.We farmers till according to our nature,harvest in keeping with our ways.Now, getting on,with money, gold and scrip in hand,and heavy grip upon the land,Raise stones, inscribe them carefully,All in their way,Variations on an epitaph. Last words, anyone?

Long, long, long agoWhen the Universe was very small,And there really was no space at all,Nova Donna was there.She was so furious.There was no time,No time for anything.She was raging,She was determined,There was no one to stop her,So she let loose.She let loose of all the boundaries,All the restrictions,Every last one,She let it ripRight up the crotch,Split the seams of her restraining garments,And started growing like Alice.Her head lifted the roof,Her arms shot out the windows,And then all the walls justBusted to flindersAnd went spinning off into space,Because now there was some,And she took a big, deepbreath, exhalingA stream of galaxiesas dense as thick smoke.She kicked back on theBig sofa covered with patterns like rattlesnake hideand leopard printsand tiger stripes andall those kinds of badasspatterns, and started to chill.She kept smoking for a long time,Because now there was some,Time I mean,Time to get some things done,Things she'd been meaning to doBack when there was so much pressureAnd no means of expression.She didn't make any decisions.She delegated everything,And didn't create any minions.She wrote everyone a blank check.There was so much to do,And she needed helpers, not slaves,Willing warriors, able to braveThe space, because there was somuch space now in this new place.She couldn't stop smoking.It turned out there was no limitTo the volume of swirling spiralsAnd gyrating pulsars andcollapsing vortices she could exhale,And she started collecting white dwarvesAnd red giants to keep her company,And always loved to wear a nova in her hair.Eventually she thought "WOW"And then she thought "This is really cool"And she noticed little things startingTo happen in the cool places out inthe star systems.She noticed some very cool stuff,Like water, which she had never seen before,As rain, and snow, As lakes and rivers,As oceans and ice caps,Turning these cute little planetsall blue and greenThe cutest little things she'd ever seen.And then she saw something that took her breath away.Because her vision being very keen,She could see the snow falling,Every snowflake, just drifting downThrough the atmosphere like insideA glass ball when you shake it,And she loved the way the windsSwirled all around the planets,Making those twirly patternsThat are so cute.But what amazed her most wasthe way every snowflake wasunique, custom-made perfect,And she just laughed with joy,Because she knew that she was rich.So she went on a shopping spree,She started spending wildly,Everywhere she could find a cool little planet.She was everywhere at once,Checking planetary orbits,Waiting for gravity to pull theminto line,Watching for stray comets thatmight be candidates to delugesome bare rock with a splashof bubblyThen watching them foam up greenAs the suns, oh how she loved her suns,Warmed up the whole shebang,And then one day they came.Flowers, oh god the flowers.She gasped. She thought the snowflakes were grand, But the flowers were, they were,They were just magnificent,And she said out loud ina voice like thunder,"I'm movin' in!"And she plucked some dawn clouds Out of the sky for a nightgown and stillalmost naked, gathered up flowers and rolled in the fields,Getting drunk on perfumeAnd watching the sunway up high in the sky, andthe rivers flowed between her legsand she knew she was not onlyrich, she was beautiful.

Do you remember?It was 2008 The millions pushed the old regime away It was our own Velvet Revolution A Black man would provide the real solution Oooh Bama! The crowd surged in an orgasm of voting We were purged of our legacy of suffering Only a few Nader-sayers were spoiling the party Saying "He said he'd kill terrorists in Pakistan, That Wall Streeter fella Summers is his right-hand man He bags up votes in Goldman Sachs How's he gonna get our backs?"

But to them most everybody said "Shut up you green-ass muthafucka -- You helped Bush win Florida lika sucka We gonna shut you outta the debates Don't piss on hope We vot'n F' Change!"

So change we got Like a revolving door Swear I been here before In one side out the other But missin somethin' My dear brother I thought Obama was my friend But it's dejavu All over again

Bush was in yo face But this man's stickin' It in the other place Below the waistband of Your pajama

Now he's in the same Position, up side down So happy to surrender That must have been His mission! They say don't switch dicks In the middle of A screw, But that's exactly What they do And if you can't handle Act One Act Two won't be no fun

On Buddhist Boards so happy-o No nasty words no nasty-o I've got a lot of Dharma to say Will have to save it for a nother day

Oh Buddhist Boards so nasty no We never have dissension-o All people happy, all day long Singing old Bernardo's song

On Buddhist Boards we posting-o Say nothing much that you don't know Sometimes so dull I fall asleep On keyboard drooling at Bernardo's feet

Oh Buddhist Boards I love you so Say nothing funny or crude you know Free to say anything you want As long as it isn't a nasty taunt

On Buddhist Boards the truth won't show It's white on white the color of snow Build up a snowman with a carrot nose And when Bernardo has to sneeze it snows

On Buddhist Boards all Buddhist know Can't learn nothing, but that's how it go Nothing ventured nothing restrained Now I see Bernardo pop a vein

On Buddhist Boards! He pop a vein! On Buddhist Boards! He go insane! On Buddhist Boards! Dancing the tango! On Buddhist Boards! Juggling the mango! On Buddhist Boards! Eating the whole Papaya!

(This poem is really about Juan C. Aragon, creator of Buddhistboards.com, who operated under the false name of Bernardo Aragon during 2002-2003. Apologies to the true Bernardo Aragon, who probably is guilty of nothing more than knowing Juan.)